


Good Morning Sunshine

by Kittenfightclub



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Flowers, Fluff, Humor, John Watson is Sherlock's maid, John kind of has a crush on Lestrade and/or Sherlock, Kissing, Lestrade is really awkward and doesn't understand why Sherlock likes him, M/M, Not literally, Sgt. Sally Donovan - Freeform, Sherlock is a Good Boyfriend, but that basically sums up their relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-10 09:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6977728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittenfightclub/pseuds/Kittenfightclub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was 11 AM on a Tuesday and Greg Lestrade had missed his alarm. He rolled over and upon finding the other half of the bed cold, shuddered and awoke. Greg groaned and sat up and ran a hand through his hair; he was supposed to be at work four hours ago. He looked at the clock and groaned again.<br/>Sherlock. Oh, god; and it was that thought that opened the floodgates. Greg remembered all of the events of the night before and he smiled. It had been six months since he divorced his wife and three of those he had spent with Sherlock, he no longer felt any guilt over the matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John as a Watchman

It was 11 AM on a Tuesday and Greg Lestrade had missed his alarm. He rolled over and upon finding the other half of the bed cold, shuddered and awoke. Greg groaned and sat up and ran a hand through his hair; he was supposed to be at work four hours ago. He looked at the clock and groaned again.   
Sherlock. Oh, god; and it was that thought that opened the floodgates. Greg remembered all of the events of the night before and he smiled. It had been six months since he divorced his wife and three of those he had spent with Sherlock, he no longer felt any guilt over the matter.  _ You could say Sherlock is very persuasive in that way. _ Greg grinning and ran his hand through his hair again, he was propped up in the bed by his other arm.    
_ I did not sleep through my alarm  _ he realised  _ Sherlock turned it off, the bastard made me late for work!  _ But it was an alarmingly considerate gesture for the man and Greg could not actually find an inch of frustration within him.    
  
The light in the room turned on suddenly and Greg fell back with a start, hitting his head on the headboard and hitting his elbow on the bedside table. John Watson stood in the doorway and surveyed the scene; although John’s eyebrows were raised in surprise he did not seem to be nearly as surprised as Greg was.   
It was in this moment that Lestrade remembered that he was not within his own home. He had spent the night at Sherlock’s flat; Sherlock’s flat that he shared with Watson. Lestrade groaned and sat up again to look at John. He smiled in apology and, blushing, took the sheet of the bed to cover himself as he looked around for his clothes.   
He intending be at work within the hour and that meant he did not have time to go home first. Lestrade was not particularly worried about someone asking where he had been; although he was not characteristically late it was obvious he hardly ever got a full night’s sleep. This endeavor, he had eventually been warned, would one day catch up with him. Neither did he worry about someone noticing that he had not changed clothes; he often wore the same set of clothes for many days in a row simply because he forgot to change them. Staying up through the night so many days eventually leads to them all blending in together.   
  
John, in a considerate attempt to not make the situation any more awkward than it already was decided not to say anything about it.    
“Morning ‘estrade, tea or coffee?” John asked, yawning, and leaning against the doorway. He had a cup of tea in his hand and a book in his other. He gestured vaguely towards the kitchen with the hand holding the book.   
  
“Coffee, thanks”. John made a noise of acknowledgement and shuffled down the hallway towards the kitchen. Lestrade heard him set the book and mug down on the countertop and begin grinding coffee. He had just finished gathering all of his clothes when he heard John shout something from the other room. He continued dressing and John repeated the statement.   
  
“Sherlock left a few hours ago, he told me to stay and see when you wake.” John said, muttering afterwards about not being Sherlock’s maid (“Don’t see why  _ I  _ am the one who stays behind to check on Lestrade; I have much better things to do! And besides, Lestrade can take perfectly good care of himself!”)   
  
“Oh.”   
  
“I didn’t see you come in last night?”   
  
“You were out cold in the chair, Sherlock took the computer out of your lap and read the manuscript.” Lestrade added “before we went to bed. He gave you a blanket too” John coughed at that. Lestrade finished dressing and walked down the hallway to the kitchen, pointing towards John’s chair (which was indeed draped with a blanket; the blanket was stained by numerous things. Tea, Lestrade noticed; Sherlock could probably name the origin of every one.)   
  
He looked back at John and took the finished coffee from him.   
“Thanks”   
  
“ ‘course” John murmured before making his way back to his chair in the sitting room. It had only been a few minutes by the time Greg had finished adding sugar to his coffee and followed him to the main room. John was already sitting in his chair, computer on his lap, nursing the cup of tea, eyebrows knitted with focus.    
Greg tried to sneak by him so as not to disturb his concentration and was halfway out the door before he heard John speak.   
“See you later?”   
Lestrade nodded and waved bye as he closed the door to the flat and headed down the stairway. Once he felt that he was out of earshot Lestrade put his back against the wall and grinned. He liked to give himself a few moment in the morning to set himself straight but he had not been allowed such a privilege this morning and found a rush of emotions all at once. A giddiness he had not felt in a long time, a boundless love of Sherlock (and of John; although with John it was an entirely different kind of love, an exceptionally taxing friendship, for both parties, would be a good description of their relationship. He would go to the end of the Earth and back for John; John understood him in a way that he knew Sherlock never would.), and a slight headache at the upcoming hoard of paperwork he would have to catch up on, not even to mention all the questions he would have to answer about his disappearance for the morning. Lestrade couldn’t exactly say he had spent the night at Sherlock’s flat; not only would that compromise the DI’s private life but none of his coworkers would believe that Sherlock could be a kind lover.   
Lestrade disliked that viewpoint, in all the time he had known Sherlock, sure, maybe in the moment he had been inconsiderate or rude but in the long-run he always cared when it was necessary. He cared about important things; he didn’t care about superficial problems and that was a particularly helpful trait to Lestrade (It helped him not to worry so much about things that in the long run did not matter at all; it helped him to get over his wife, it helped him to manage his emotions better in situations not unlike the own he was in now).   
  
Lestrade sighed and remembered the kisses and touches of the night before; he remembered Sherlock’s hands in his hair and it calmed him. The DI closed his eyes and when he opened them again he was ready for whatever the day would hold.   
Greg stood up to his full height, rolled his shoulders and adjusted his coat before opening the door to the complex and exiting into the street


	2. Friend? Lover? Notch In The Bedpost?

Sherlock returned to the flat later that morning with a roll of gauze, a pack of 100 toothpicks and a bottle of Iodine; John did not have a clue why any of these things were needed but he found it was often best to leave Sherlock to his business in times like this.  
Sherlock, once inside, stood in the doorway and stared at the wall as though remembering something too late that he had forgotten. He frowned, pursed his lips and scratched his head.

“What kind of gift is appropriate do you think?”

John sat in his chair, blanket over his lap, tucked into the corners of the worn out cushions, writing a manuscript for his next publication of his and Sherlock’s escapades. He bit his lip and jammed the delete key before sighing and typing even more furiously than he had been before.

“What kind of gift is appropriate do you think?”

Sherlock stare at the wall before suddenly shifting his gaze to Watson (who had not yet moved from his position except to take a sip of tea and rub his forehead. It was unclear how exactly John never ran out of tea, especially considering that he never seemed to move from the chair. Sherlock suspected Ms. Hudson was at fault; she was always there for John, never could refuse a favor.

“What kind of gift do you feel would be appropriate for me to get for Lestrade?”

“Huh?” John questioned, not lifting his gaze from the computer screen but gesturing for Sherlock to continue with a lazy finger. He backspaced a few more times before saving and closing the laptop.

“For Lestrade. A gift. What would be appropriate?” Sherlock repeated.

“Oh. Well…” John started “perhaps a nice watch? Or some gloves? A watch would be nice, one with an alarm, then maybe he would wake up on time in the morning.” he added with a shrug and a laugh.

“Perhaps some flowers?” Sherlock asked, once again gazing at the wall as though it were a catalogue.

“Flowers? Are you sure? Perhaps they are too… feminine?”

“Daisies? Too bright. Poppies? The connotation would be horrendous. Roses? To loverly. Tulips? Yes, Tulips will do. Tulips and Baby’s Breath? Tulips and Lilies? Tulips and Dahlias? Tulips and Hyacinth? John?”

John sighed and nodded, defeated.  
“Hyacinth sounds fine Sherlock.”

“Yes. “ was all that Sherlock said before turning on his heel and exiting the flat just as quickly as he had arrived.

  
~

“Lestrade”

“Huh?” hummed Lestrade from his desk, his head was down between his hands, but ever diligent, he had a file propped up on his legs which he was reading. He yawned before looking up.  
Sgt. Donovan stood erect at the foot of his desk, frowning characteristically. Her suit was impeccable, as was her hair, and Greg Lestrade liked her due to those aspects. He found her aesthetically pleasing and polite in many situations. He did not in particular like her impression of Sherlock Holmes (in particular her blatant disrespect and name calling), he did not mind her company when alone, sometimes they were even friends.

“You’ve got some packages up at the front”

“Who’s it from?”

“How would I know? Friend? Lover? Notch in the bedpost?”

Greg Lestrade blushed and stood up, straightening his suit. Sgt. Donovan studied his suit and then his tie and then his hair. She looked back at his suit and grinned.  
“I’ll put my money on a’ tryst” she added with a laugh before shrugging at the realization and turning to make her way back to her desk.  
Lestrade blushed more and tried to straighten his suit before making his way to the head of the station. Perhaps he should have inquired if John had in his possession an ironing board, he doubted that Sherlock would own such an item, but John might; he would remember to ask next time. It would save him much grief in the workplace.

Hopefully this “package” I have waiting is not urgent, or poisonous, or honestly related to work in any way. I was hoping to be able to get home earlier today and see Sherl, if this is important I might have to stay late. I mean, overtime is never bad, and i did get here late this-

Lestrade stopped, staring, four bouquets of Yellow Tulips and Purple Hyacinths arranged perfectly sat on the front desk. Instantly a blush began to infect Greg like a virus, it spread from his cheeks to his nose to his ears and even down his neck, disappearing into the collar of his coat with a scarlet flourish.   
The bouquets were large, and each was wrapped in a mess of opaque plastic. Greg continued to stare at the bunch before sniffing to clear his sinuses and running a hand over his face. Sherlock. The colors were gaudy but the scent was heavenly. Sherlock.

Sgt. Sally Donovan was watching him with amusement from her desk but quickly looked away when he seemed to sense it and gave her a warning glance. It was not particularly that she was able to take him seriously when he had such a blush covering his features but simply that she wished he would do the same for her were she to get gifts while on the job. Their situations were actually more similar than either believed, although Anthea was not one for gift giving as much as Sherlock had proven to be.

Lestrade cleared his throat and huffed before carrying two of the bouquets back to his desk. He set them on opposite corners and then returned for the other two. The flowers created a barrier between Lestrade and his fellow co-workers. Lestrade was grateful for that, the privacy, he needed to think, or rather, he wanted to think about Sherlock. He wanted to see him, he needed to see him. He simply could not wait to see him.

Lestrade stood from his desk and headed for the door.  
“I’ll be back later” he said after taking one last whiff of the flowers; the bouquets would be there tomorrow and Lestrade would enjoy them (although he would not be able to allow himself this indulgence; he had already lost enough hours)  
“Probably” he added before exiting the station.


	3. Excuses and Reasons

It took Greg Lestrade between twenty and thirty minutes to commute to work that morning, he made it back to 221B Baker St. in five. He stopped in front of the door to catch his breath before opening it and ascending the stairs. He entered the flat, without knocking, to find John in his chair. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

Greg laughed, he couldn't help it.

 

“Do you ever move?” He asked and John looked up at him and smirked.

 

“Sometimes.” 

 

“Liar!, he hasn’t moved all day!” Exclaimed Sherlock, matter of factly, as he appeared behind Lestrade and wrapped his arms around the DI’s midsection. Lestrade laughed at that and fell back into his touch.    
Sherlock was taller than Lestrade by a few inches, Greg would be bitter if Sherlock wasn't such a good big spoon. 

 

“Sarcasm?”

 

“Yeah” answered Watson, who was closing his laptop, and shifting to get off the chair, “it's new to him”. 

Watson snorted at his own joked. 

 

“Don't let us bother you Watson” interrupted Sherlock “we're going to my room”

Lestrade snorted then, before bursting into a fit of laughter. It was a true fact, of course (the consulting detective’s eagerness was the cause of much second-hand embarrassment for Lestrade even if the younger Holmes was shameless about the display).

 

“Sherlock-!”

 

“But if you insist on getting up John, you could start some tea- and coffee if you don't mind. Gregory prefers coffee?” Sherlock looked at Lestrade expectantly and Greg nodded his approval.

“Yes, tea and coffee John”

 

“I'm not your maid!” Watson exclaimed as he made his way to the kitchen to start water for tea. Sherlock and Lestrade went into the bedroom.

 

“You came-”

 

“Of course I came you twat!” Lestrade exclaimed before kissing Sherlock. The kiss was long but not uncomfortably so. The sound of coffee grinding and Watson huffing around went on much longer than the kiss, but still, it was a good thirty seconds before Lestrade pulled away for breath. 

 

“You liked the flowers?”

 

“Not particularly”

 

Sherlock kissed Lestrade that time and put a hand on the back of his neck. Lestrade was out of breath by the time Sherlock allowed him to pull away; his hair was messed beyond repair.  _ That is Gregory Lestrade’s official reason for not returning to work this evening, his hair was messed _ . Greg laughed despite himself. Maybe Sherlock could come up with a better excuse.

Sherlock, in his infinite capacity for lying,  _ could have  _ come up with a much better excuse if he had stopped kissing Lestrade long enough for him to ask the question. 

 

Without noticing, Lestrade had been maneuvered until he was standing just shy of the bed. Sherlock took one step towards him and he tripped and fell onto the bed. Lestrade landed with a grunt and raised himself onto his elbows. Sherlock kissed him again quickly before taking off his shirt.

 

“Good God! Sherlock!”    
John dropped the pitcher of coffee which banged against the carpet and left a large brown stain in the middle of the hallway. The retired Army Doctor shielded his eyes before bursting out laughing. Lestrade laughed with him.

Sherlock stood still for a moment of shocked silence before turning to John. 

 

“John, you’re just jealous.”

 

Lestrade continued laughing but Watson blushed furiously before bending over to pick up the dropped pitcher. Sherlock stood in front of the bed as Lestrade stood up and adjusted his clothing.  _ I didn't return to work this evening- Sgt. Donovan- because my clothes were wrinkled.  _ The detective shuddered and held back a huff before going to help Watson with the spilled pitcher. 

 

“Sorry, Greg, are you good with tea?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, it's alright John”

 

“Are you sure? I can-”

 

“Yes! John, it's alright!

 

“Give him a blanket” interrupted Sherlock.

 

“I'm sorry?”

 

“He’s in shock Lestrade, give the man a blanket!” Sherlock exclaimed with a smirk. The trio laughed and made their way to the living room. While John poured out three cups of tea Sherlock leaned over and put his hand on Lestrade's thigh.

 

“You’re staying the night.” The consulting detective mumbled against Lestrade's neck. It wasn't a question, it was statement; as if Sherlock deduced as much the moment Greg had opened the door.

  
_ I didn't return to work this evening,  _ Lestrade imagined,  _ because Sherlock Holmes told me that I mustn't.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- everytime I wrote "consulting detective" it autocorrected to "consult ice detective" and I don't know why ;_;
> 
> \- I always enjoy comments! <3

**Author's Note:**

> \- title from the song Good Morning Sunshine by Alex Day
> 
> \+ I always appreciate comments!


End file.
